Savior

Twenty: Wes

It was official: I was a Dolphin. I'd signed a substantial, three-year contract with the option of renewal, depending, of course, on how I performed. And behaved. It was made very clear that my previous Party-Boy antics would not be tolerated, and honestly, I didn't have any desire to revisit them. Miami was going to be my fresh start, my clean slate, and despite being slightly terrified to move to the opposite side of the country, I was ready for it.

Things remained tense, almost awkward, between Mia and I, even after I returned to Los Angeles. We hung out almost every day, but something had shifted. Neither one of us seemed willing to discuss our argument, or our varying opinions on how we were going to make it work. Instead, it seemed like both of us were just trying to pretend that nothing was changing, even though we knew everything was. The few times we tried to discuss it, just ended in arguments, with her saying we could make long distance work, and me sticking firm to my belief that it wouldn't, not in the long run.

Did I want to be with Mia? Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, but I wanted her WITH me. Was I being selfish? Probably, but that didn't change how I felt. I wanted her there. I NEEDED her there. I needed some sense of familiarity to keep myself grounded. I didn't trust myself in a new place, with a new team and new friends, in a new atmosphere. It was as simple as that. I didn't trust myself to remain the man I'd become over the last six months. I didn't think I was strong enough.

I could see how it would play out already in my head. We'd do the long-distance thing, for a while it would be fine. There would be calls, and texts, FaceTimes and random meet-ups here and there when we had the chance, but it would get old, quick. We'd start fighting, we'd talk less and less and some night I'd go out with some teammates, get drunk and wake-up with some jersey chaser next to me who's name I didn't remember. That's how this always went. I'd seen it a million times in my career, and it was one of the reasons I'd never gotten into anything serious. Athletes are man-whores. Sure, there's the rare one that's dedicated to this perfect life, with this perfect girl that's loved him since they were high school sweethearts, but that was few and far between. And more likely than not, they'd just done a better job than most of keeping their dirt a secret. Call me a pessimist, but I preferred being realistic. I would without question break Mia's heart. Or, maybe in some one in a million turn of events, she would break mine. Regardless, we wouldn't be together in the end. That much I was certain of. And I had made up my mind that it would be better to end it sooner rather than drag it out.

The problem was that I didn't know HOW I was going to end it. There was a myriad of options I had used throughout my life. I could ghost her, but that seemed rather cruel. And... kind of stupid considering she was still my PR rep. I could pull the classic "Its not me its you" but that was over-used, and way too close to the truth. I could pick a fight and get her mad at me, so I didn't feel so goddamn guilty about it. But every idea that came, I quickly shot down. Figuring out how to breakup with someone you really didn't want to breakup with was a front row ticket on the struggle bus.

That night we were meeting for dinner with Jazz and Cammie before heading to Knox. It was supposed to be my Goodbye party of sorts, at least when it came to friends. Apparently, Jazz had shut down the club and she and Mia had planned everything, all I had to do was show up. Which was fine, I didn't have the energy to do much more than that anyway. All my energy went into figuring out how I was going to rip my own fucking heart out.

I had spent most of the last few days packing and finalizing things for my move. I intended to keep the Los Angeles apartment and return home during the off-season, and my agent had hired me a temporary assistant who was busy readying my place in Miami. The team had condos that were on hold for out of town team members during the season, and my contract had come with the bonus of the penthouse. My assistant (Drea, I think. We'd only spoken a few times) was there to get it furnished and ready for my arrival. Most of our communication was through texts and photos, asking whether I liked her design choices. It didn't honestly matter. As long as I didn't walk into some Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse looking shit, I didn't care. Not like it would be home anyway. She wouldn't be there.